Fiction Friday #1

Remember a few weeks ago when I mentioned that I was was saving all of Queenie's "Punks" stories? (And now I've gone and seen that she's labeled things and one of the labels is Punks, therefore making the work that I did unnecessary now, but still it was fun when I did it. And she's cleared up that some of the other stories with a Tommy are also "Punks" even though Minnie isn't in them.) Well, today is the day you all learn why.

I'm going to try and post some sort of fiction each Friday. Here at Blogger, I'll post them Thursday just before I leave work, but the date will always read Friday at 12:01 AM because I'm hoping that one of these day's Blogger will let me do the future post thing so I can get everything set up whenever I want and then it'll automatically post first thing Friday morning. Get it?

I used to want to be a writer of fiction. I used to think that one day I would get paid for writing about things that never happened. I used to dream that people would get lost in my worlds. I'd like to be that way again and I figure setting myself a goal to put a little bit of fiction down each week is a good way to start.

I don't promise that I'll finish things that get started. Sometimes, I'll be borrowing other people's worlds (they'll all be labeled "fan fic", though). And I can't promise that anything'll be good. But I'm gonna try.

Anyway, today's bit of fiction is me entering into Queenie's realm. I don't know if I've made it clear here (and sometimes I'm not sure if I've made it clear over at Queenie's) that I really like the "Punks" stories. Things happen that scare me, but I really can't get enough of them. There's something about Minnie and Tommy and their relationship that just gets me. The stories are spectacular (although, everything Queenie writes over there is great) and I highly recommend you read them, but, hopefully, it won't be necessary.

And before we get started with the actual fiction for today, this was where this story ended. I got to the point where it stops and something told me that Queenie wouldn't go any farther and neither should I. Only she knows if that's true. At some point down the road, I want to write another with more about this character; I'm just not sure when it'll be.

Here goes:

Punks-A Nobody

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high. And Alan loved her. He knew he loved her like no one else could.
But Minnie didn't know that. Alan figured she didn't even know who he was.

Alan was one of the kid in school who showed up every day. He went to every class he had.
Minnie didn't. Some days she'd be there; some days she wouldn't.
Alan couldn't figure out why, but he was sure she had her reasons.
Maybe it was the grass she smoked. Maybe she just hated the place too much.
He'd never know.

On the days that Minnie went to school all day, Alan only had two times to really see her.
The first place was in home room, but that was only for ten minutes in the morning. Not enough time for anything.
The second was after lunch, in math. When Minnie showed up, her lips just as bright as they were in the morning, she sat in the back right corner, near the windows. Alan sat on the left.
When she showed up, he watched her.
He watched her lean forward and put her face in her hand.
He watched her blow her hair out of her eyes.
He watched her lean back in her chair and look at the light above her.
He watched her stare out the window.
He watched her and tried to imagine all the things she was thinking.
And when he couldn't imagine that anymore, he imagined all the things he'd like to do with her.

Minnie was in home room that morning, but that didn't guarantee that she'd be there after lunch, but Alan didn't mind because he'd heard something at lunch.
At lunch, Alan went down the stairs near the basement door. There was a janitor's closet there that he could jimmy open.
No one bothered him there. No one else ever came down the stairs. Except for today.

A couple came down. A guy and a girl.
He pushed her against the basement door and leaned down into her neck and started kissing.
Alan saw this because When he pulled the door closed he always left a crack so he could get just enough light to eat by. He scooted back into the shadow so he wouldn't be seen, but he could still hear.
"Did you hear about that bitch?" asked the girl.
"Uhhhhn," said the guy.
"That skank, Minnie, the one who wears the lipstick that makes her look like a whore."
"Uhhhhn."
"I heard she's fucking that guy she's always with."
"Uhhhhn."
"I can't believe I was ever friends with that little slut."
"Uhhhhn."
Then all he heard were the smacking sounds of their kissing.

He knew who the guy was that Minnie was always with. It was Tommy.
The first time Alan saw Tommy take Minnie's hand in the hallway, he wished he were Tommy.
And now he knew they were fucking.
And in his mind they kissing.
And his hand slid down his stomach and into his pants.
And he saw Minnie, naked, with Tommy, naked, kissing her tits.
And Alan undid his pants with his other hand.
And Tommy was kissing Minnie on the mouth and Minnie was stroking Tommy with her hand.
And Alan was pumping.
And Minnie was pushing herself into Tommy as Tommy pushed into her, trying to make him go deeper.
And Alan's breathing started to get faster.
And Minnie opened her mouth and took in several short, quick breaths before gasping and sighing.
And Alan felt himself release, his breathing getting more even.
And he hoped he didn't get anything on his bag.

Sauer

I was in a really good mood today. One of those rare moods where I want to make the people around me smile so we all feel better. It all came about because I'm trying something new, for me, here. It's the next post, in fact. I like it. I like the idea. And I'm hoping that the few who visit will enjoy what I'm trying to do. I've been thinking about this for more than a month and it felt really good to have accomplished something that I set out to do.

Also, I was going to go to Cowtown for the weekend. I have an interview on Tuesday. I was going to take Monday off from work to make the weekend a long one. So, I was going to spend four days there with nothing that I have to do. I could lounge. Plans were being made. I was going to visit Heels and Johnny Logic and their son and watch a movie or two and shoot the breeze because they were much more involved in the wedding than I was and we didn't visit much. My mom and I were going to drag my dad to the movies for a double feature (we were only going to pay for one, though) of Transformers and Ratatouille. My grandma's celebrating her birthday on Monday. The cousin from Washington who couldn't make it down for Easter (her two sisters were there) is visiting. And I was going to get my hair cut at a place that I like.

I found out about the interview when I got to my apartment Monday evening. Tuesday I asked for the two days off and JSIC signed off on them, wishing me luck for this interview. Just after lunch, he grabbed me and asked me to come into his office. He said that Monday the 9th we have a very important meeting that none of us can miss. (The office is actually being closed down for it.) He told me that I couldn't miss Monday unless I was sick and got a prescription from my doctor saying I shouldn't be at work. He said he couldn't give me the day off.

And that just ruined my good mood. I mean, I felt like I was hit in the stomach.

He told me that I could leave after the meeting on Monday. He thinks it'll be over about three.

I don't think it'll be over that early.

If I get up to the Cowtown area early enough, I'm going to swing by the grandparent's place and wish a happy birthday to my grandma and say hey to my cousin.

I haven't done much work since I was told I couldn't have my long weekend. I've mostly surfed the interknobs for information on a couple of things that I'd really like to do. I'm going to try to start one of them this weekend. Most of the rest will really have to wait until I own some land, or am at least living in a real house instead of an apartment.

4th of July

I was going to write an analysis of the current state of the United States for the 4th of July, but my boss came out and told us we can leave at 4:30 today. So, screw it!

DAMN!

I'm working on a new case file and this person was born in 1985. I did the math. Someone born in 1985 is only 22 and probably never enjoyed watching a first run Episode of He-Man or Transformers.

Suddenly, I feel much older.

Letter to Blogger

Dear Blogger,

I've been reading some of the things about this new "Blogger in Draft." I guess that video blogging is becoming more popular and adding polls is cool and the more languages is a great way to expand the blogoverse on these internets, but when are you going to work out future posting?

I want to be able to write things and choose when they're going to be posted. I don't have a laptop, so posting things while I'm away from my computer just doesn't happen. I'm not going out of my way to use a Kinko's computer or a computer at a coffee shop that I have to pay to use. That's a waste of my money. But I would like to write something, anything, in advance and know that it'll pop up on the day I choose at the time of my liking.

I can't be the only person who uses blogger who wants this, can I?

All the best,

ticknart

Funk Me

In case you couldn't tell by last week's postings, I've been in a bit of a funk. Where did it come from? I can't say because my funks are more like sink holes that you didn't know existed until your house is suddenly swallowed by the earth. It's just something you deal with until you find a way to get out if it.

Crap, I don't really want to get into all this self serving, emotional stuff. It never helps me when I write it out. I never feel better. I don't want pity or any kind of emotional support. I just want to write something.

The trouble with that is when I'm in a funk, all I think about is the funk. I'm pretty darn shut down to the rest of the world. Sure, I can still do my job, but the only time that requires any thought is when the people around me want to have a conversation and even then thought is kept to a minimum.

I suppose I could write about the wedding, but the way I'm feeling I'd write about it with a more cynical style than I usually would, and, in general, I view marriage in a pretty cynical way and I think that, on the whole, wedding ceremonies for younger people (you know, in their twenties) are rarely about the two people who are actually getting married and are more about their parents and grandparents. Which is okay, I suppose, because it keeps most of those people from getting married on a summer's day near a lake around sunset when the mosquitoes attack and near places that are easy to find.

On the Steps of the Palace

I've been trying to figure out what I want. You know? I want to figure out something that I desire with all of my being. Like a married couple who can't have kids (or are having trouble getting pregnant) but more than anything want a little life to care for. That's the kind of desire I'd like to have.

Sure, there are things I'd like to have. I'd like to own a few acres of land of rolling hills, pines and oaks, and a creek or California river running through it. I'd like to own a house. so that every payment I make gets it closer to being mine, instead lining the pocket of some jackass with money while he won't even replace a screen that's been missing since before I moved in. I'd like... shit, I don't really know what else I'd like.

A long time ago, I wrote about how much I like Into the Woods. I didn't do a great job talking about the play. Hell, I left out my favorite lyric. There's this moment where Cinderella is sitting on the stairs with the Baker's Wife talking (really singing, but come on, it's a musical) and the Baker's Wife asks her about the prince and ends with, "Is he everything you've ever wanted?" and Cinderella answers, "Would I know? / ... / [H}ow can you know what you want / Till you get what you want / And you see if you like it?" The Baker's wife isn't sure and ponders it over while Cinderella says, "All I know is- / ... / What I want most of all- / ... / Is to know what I want." Which is something that I've been able to relate to for a long time.

Do you remember the last time you blew an eyelash off your finger, or saw a shooting star and made a wish? What did you wish for? The last time I made a wish, I wished to have a wish. It's the same wish I've made since I was eleven.

WTF?

Thinking of things to write here, this week, has been really difficult and I don't know why. I had exactly the same number of things to write about last week, but it all seemed so much easier.

Well, fuck it.

How about the wedding that I'm going to on Saturday, huh? It's for a friend that I've known a long time. Like since second grade. We weren't friend friends back then, but I knew of him. The friend thing didn't happen until high school. He worked in China for a year a while ago.

His fiancée I don't know, at all. I think I've met her twice, maybe three times if she was working that day Wings and I crashed the 'Bucks they worked at. I couldn't remember her name until I got the invitation a few months ago. See, the thing is when I first heard about her it was from my old roommate. I asked her what she was like and one of the things he said was that she has a sort of Jennifer Tilly voice. Ever since that time, I've called her Jennifer in my head. Whether they have similar voices, I'll have to leave up to the experts.

In the world of sports, I have no idea what the hell's going on. In fact, I'd rather keep a mummified monkey cock than know. I think it's baseball season, but what does it matter? I'm not a gamblin' man. My knee cap, or life, doesn't hang in the balance if the local team doesn't beat the spread. In fact, no matter how the local team does, my life won't change one little bit. I won't even hear about it!

Same goes for Dancing with the Fucking Stars or whatever "reality" TV show is popular right now. I don't don't know, and I don't care. HA! Eat it you network bastards! I don't have to put up with your crap!

Reunion '07

I've pretty much decided not to go to the high school reunion. (I have one more feeler out there and if this person in going, I'll end up going.)

It seems that the few people worth seeing at such a thing who I'm in semi-regular contact with aren't going, so why should I?

Plus, I'm going to a wedding this weekend and some of those people will be there.

I'm glad there's one less trip to Cowtown in my future. It's not that I don't like going to Cowtown, it's just that it's a long trip (3.5 hours there, if traffic is good) that cost $60 in gas money each time. And it'll be freaking hot there in July.

Misleading Topic

It's the end of my work day, again.

Were things accomplished?
I suppose it depends on what you mean by "things." Peace still hasn't been established in the Mid East. The whole Pakistan mess just keeps getting worse and there's really no end in sight unless someone is going to commit genocide and kill all the human beings in the Mid East. "Things" related to work were accomplished. Boxes are finished and so of the lists, now it's all up to the nuts in charge to decide when they get out of here, but that's out of my hands.

How was the day, in general?
Warm. It's probably in the mid-eighties. Right around the range where I'd rather be wearing shorts than pants, but not so hot that my legs are on fire as soon as I step outside. My feet, however, would much rather be in sandals than shoes. Darn me and my attempt to look semi-professional at work!

Doing anything interesting?
Not really. I have to run to the store after work; there are things to be picked up. And I plan on seeing Pirates of the Caribbean tonight. It'll only cost five bucks. Not bad. And it seems like a not too horrible way to use up three hours of my life. Also, it can't be any worse than the second movie, right? At least Geoffrey Rush is in this one more than 60 seconds and he'll keep me entertained, right?

Anything else?
I found a flea on me here at work. If a flea shits, I crushed the shit out of it. I don't know if it came with me from my apartment or if I got it here, but I'm getting kind of paranoid. Every time there's an itch or a tingle on my skin I freak out thinking there's another one on me. So far there hasn't. Hopefully it was an isolated incident and I got it from that dog that was in the lobby of the building at lunch. I hope it was gotten here. Last summer there were fleas all over the place where I, and the other people who live in my building, park our cars. Everyday, after work, I'd strip down, hop in the shower, turn on the water, and sit in the stream looking over my body, mostly my legs, to get rid of the little blood suckers. It didn't always work.

Dear Monkey Christ, I hope that's it.
It is, right after I thank Anonymous for leaving me my first spam comment. Thank you. I feel like I've really made it as a blogger.

Rating!

This rating is just having the thing look at the front page of my blog. They say it's PG "was determined based on the presence of the following words:
* assholes (2x)
* hell (1x)"

However, if I ask them to look at my blog for all of 2007, so far, I get:


This one "was determined based on the presence of the following words:
* dead (7x)
* assholes (5x)
* hell (4x)
* fuck (3x)
* shit (2x)
* hells (1x)"

And just like the MPAA, the context in which these words were used doesn't matter at all.

Ashamed

There are moments when I'm really ashamed to be working with these people. Like right now.

One of the things we handle here are commutations. (Not for prison sentences, which is probably where most people know that word from, but for money.)

See, what happens in the world is that people get injured at work and, sometimes, the employer's insurance company doesn't think they should pay anything because what if it didn't really happen at work or only part of the injury happened because of the job the person does. That's where this place comes in. Medical records and legal stuff and depositions come in and then a judge tries to help facilitate an agreement between the insurance company and an injured worker that, hopefully, helps to pay for any medical bills the injured worker has accumulated in the, quite probably, years since the injury.

If things go well, the case is settled, quickly, on a Stipulations with Request for Award or a Compromise and Release. The C&R give people a lump sum of money, less any outstanding liens and attorney's fees. The Stip give the person payments in monthly lumps for a certain amount of time and offers the promise of paying for future medical bills that are related to the injury, less any outstanding liens and attorney's fees.

If it doesn't go well, it's a mess.

Anyway, when a person settles their case on a Stip, but are in dire need of money, hopefully for a reason that's related to the injury and not because the person is an asshole who owes $50 thousand in credit card debt, they send in a Request for Commutation from the Far End of the Award. That means the injured worker wants a portion of the money owed them now so they can pay off bills now and their monthly payments will be shortened by that amount. The injured work, though, has to prove that he or she is in need. This usually means there are copies of phone bills, electric bills, credit card bills, and other such things.

Which brings me to why I'm ashamed of the people I work with. TMSV got a Commutation in her work this afternoon. Attached was the copy of the person's credit card statement. TMSV had never seen this before and she got excited. She proceeded to read to all of us the person's APR (which is really, really low, by the way), the finance charges, the amount of cash advances, the amount owed, and some of the places the card was used. BBNG and GICS started laughing and wanted to know more. I didn't. And then the three of them started to discuss some of the places the card has been.

I have to admit that although I'm all for trying to figure out how this person go such a low APR, none of this was any of our business. It's not our job to read through every part of the document. It's not our job to critique the person based on the documentation we get. And it's certainly not our job to laugh at the stupidity of one of the people we're supposed to be helping.

That said, I sometimes do read and laugh, but I never read it to the rest of the people working here or even pass it around for a laugh.

I'm sure this sort of thing happens almost anywhere, but, seriously, whatever happened to respecting a person's privacy?

Gentle Sheep

Been boxing files all day today. Okay, I wasn't boxing files while I was putting boxes together, or while I was on my lunch break, or while I was moving the boxes from near the shelves to the place where they will rest for a while, but most of my time today has been spent putting files in boxes.

One of the best things about boxing the files is that I can listen to myPod while doing it. I don't have to pretend to be paying attention to anything other than the files and the boxes. It's really nice.

For the last hour, I played only one song, over and over again. It was "Gentle Sheep" by The Ditty Bops. It's just such a great song. Sort of happy, sort of not. I'm not sure how to describe it, but I like it a lot. (I remember being pointed to a video of theirs because it was suggested for people who like girls who look like Louise Brooks. I'm surely one of those people.)

In other news, I don't think there is other news.

Funny, it seems like I should add the word "yet" to the end of that last sentence because that's what's done right. The only problem is that it would be sort of like lying. Since I don't expect there to be any other of news, why should I add "yet"?

Okay, time to pack up. Hope your weekend is nice.

Nice, for the Valley

I do not look forward to the drive to Cowtown tonight. The cassette player in the car doesn't like the tape adapter (I'm afraid to try it on one of the real cassettes I have) and squeals when I put it in. That means no listening to myPod. The NPR station I listen to around here is only good for about an hour worth of the drive and it fades in and out constantly as the hills roll. The NPR station that can be heard in Cowtown will fade in around that time, but at seven it starts to play jazz. Jazz is not that good for me. And from there, it's scan the frequencies hoping that there will be something worth listening too, and if not that then at least something familiar I can sing along with.

Hopefully, though, the valley's not too hot tonight. According to the Google weather thingy it's about 88 now, which isn't bad, for the valley, and the highs should be nearing their zenith about now. Right?

And then there's the interview tomorrow. I'm really nervous about this one and not even thinking about a sweet chocolate Jesus makes me feel better. Third time's supposed to be the charm, right? What does that make the fourth time? The sightly pathetic, slightly desperate time?

*sigh*

I know. I know. Calm down. Everything will be okay. Other platitude.

I'll do an okay to spectacular job at the interview tomorrow. I just wish I had another job elsewhere so I could stop doing these things.

Streaming Pile of...

With no real desire to do anything for the last hour of work today, I sit down at the computer to post something to my blog. The problem is that even though I feel the desire to write, I don't know what to write about.

I suppose I could write about my weekend, but since my dad and I are the only people I know who were really excited about me going to a Weird Al concert, there doesn't seem to be much reason to write about that, now does there. Other than that, and the long drive there and back, my weekend was a lot like every other weekend. I made food. I watched DVDs. I washed dishes. I gave parts of the bathroom a scrub. I thought about vacuuming, but decided that I didn't want to push the piles of things around, so there was no vacuuming done.

And I break away from writing for a while. I copy and and paste all of the "Punks" stories that Queenie has written. A couple of weeks ago, I went through her entire blog to pull up all the "Punks" links so I could move them into a .txt file and save them for myself. I have another reason for saving the links, though, but I don't want to get into it now. Hopefully I'll be better able to explain in a couple of weeks. No promises, though. Sometimes, I like to pretend that one of the "Punks" stories was written more for me than just because Minnie wanted out of Queenie's head. Whether it was or not doesn't really matter, I just like to think that sometimes. The "Punks" are often frightening, but I love them all the same.

Now I'm at a loss again. I keep trying to think of something vital to write about, but, at the moment, I have no righteous indignation that needs to be freed. Okay, maybe I have some aimed at the Green Arrow/Black Canary wedding and more to say about John Stewart, but not now. Not here.

For a little while, I sit and think about Wednesday. See, I have another interview in Cowtown. This is my fourth, I think. The second one this month. I mostly just want to get away from this job and get somewhere that there's potential. The place in Cowtown is the only place that's given me an interview since I started on the whole I-want-the-fuck-out-of-here kick I've been on since April. I hope they get over whatever bullshit they have there and hire me. I need out.

I need out because the guy who sits across from me is a snitch. If someone doesn't hop out of his or her seat fast enough, he writes an e-mail to the lead clerk about it. If the mail isn't delivered early enough, he writes the PJ about it. If paychecks accidentally get delivered to the wrong office in this building, he writes to someone in the head office. He's doing this because his ability to work is being scrutinized. When he worked in a way out of the way part of the office, he ignored his work. He was way, way behind on everything. He tried to blame other people, but his work wasn't split between all the clerks and we weren't supposed to do the stuff that he was doing, so it wasn't our fault that when he went on family leave in April that we got piles of work from his desk that had been stamped in February. Now that he's out here with everyone else, the powers above want to make sure he's doing his work in a timely manner. He wants to get them off his back by telling them about the time I ignored a person at the counter because I was making boxes so I could clear shelf space for new files while he sat at his desk glancing between me and the person at the counter.

I also need out of here because a job that would be like a promotion has actually come up, but I can't apply for it. I can't apply for it because I would be working for one of the biggest asshole morons I've ever met in my life. It's incompetent people like this guy who make everyone assume people who work for the government are idiots who don't know how to do their job. I have enough problems knowing that I share the same air this guy breaths, I don't think I could handle him being my boss.

In between tapping out words, I started reading things on the Apple iPhone. It looks interesting. All touch screeny and stuff. It's going to be expensive, though. The only reason I'm interested is because after I move to where ever I end up being, I'm probably going to get a mobile phone and just keep that as my phone number for the rest of my life. It's what one of my brothers is doing. He got his phone when he was living in Santa Cruz and has kept that number through his move to Berkeley and Oakland, then to Baltimore, and now in Lima. I don't want a really fancy phone, but I'd like one that take good picture, since I don't have a digital camera either. I've already come up with some rules for how I'll use the phone because I don't want to turn into one of those people. You know the type. They're speaking with you and laughing with you, but when the phone rings they tell you to shut up and then wander off to talk to someone else only to come back to tell you that their sister's daughter was at a petting zoo and just touched a duck. Yeah, I don't want to be one of those people who look at their phone every minute to see if someone called or to see if they got an e-mail because, even when it isn't, it's like they just don't want to be around me or other people, just their damn phone.

Okay, work is soon to come to an end. Tonight, I watch my DVDs of The Office (American version), again. I don't know what's for dinner. I could say, "Beef, it's what's for dinner!" but I'd be lying. I don't have any beef at my apartment.

Or Not To Go

So, I got an invitation to my high school reunion the other day. The original RSVP date, May 21, had been crossed out and June 30 had been written in. (That was nice, seeing how they've yet to invent a way for me to mail things back in time.) The reunion is in July.

The more I think about it, the less I want to go. It's supposed to be some kind of fancy cocktail party thing and I'm not a fan of things like that. And it's going to be held at a golf course where there are no trees and it'll be blindingly hot. I'd be more comfortable if it was a barbecue at the Lyon's Club, or something.

And now I feel guilty for even suggesting that I don't want to go to something where I'll be uncomfortable in just about every way I can think.

In happier news, in 26.25 hours I'll be at a "Weird" Al concert. That should be fun.

Green Arrow #75

Two things:

1. It really sucked having the Justice League save the day. It was like saying that Green Arrow and his group aren't good enough.

2. Black Canary had better say no. If she doesn't, she must be some kind of masochist.

Doubting

Have you ever read something (or seen something or heard something) that isn't about you, but after reading it (or seeing or hearing) you revaluate who you are and it seems to confirm many of the worst things you've ever thought about yourself and what you think people think of you?

Well, it happened to me this morning and it's terrible.

I don't want to get specific because all that would happen is nothing. People who are (or who are just trying to be) nice would tell me I'm not what I think I am. The person who wrote the thing and the people involved in the story would insist that nothing written was about me, which it wasn't.

Occasional Narcissist

Being the occasional narcissist that I am, I decided to go back and see what I was thinking a year ago.

It's funny, my 365 days ago is how I felt yesterday.

I also found something that may be my best piece of writing, and if not the best, it's among them.

Other highlights, in bottom of page to top of page order:
Ruined for Everybody: X-Men: The Last Stand
Talkin' Cars
A Moment...

None of that's important, but I didn't want to do my work anymore today and sometimes it's fun to remember times past.

Not Hired

So, I did not get the job I interviewed for on the first.

The guy who I would have worked directly under just called and told me that he went with someone else.

It was nice that he called.

He told me that he went with someone a bit more experienced, but he liked my attitude.

He told me that he needed someone who could get started right away and didn't need to be trained.

He told me to be sure to put in applications for the Office Assistant jobs because I'd made a good impression on one of the supervisors in the interview.

He said he hoped to see me out there in the future.

I have mixed feelings about the whole conversation.

John Stewart, We Hardly Know You

Ragnell the Foul wrote, the other day, wanting to know who John Stewart is. (This is the Green Lantern, not the comedian or the Earl of Mar.)

Here's most of my response:

John Stewart is a builder.

He became an architect because he wanted to build things. He's not satisfied with just designing buildings, though, he likes to get in and actually be part of the building process. He likes to know that he helped to put the forms together so the foundation could be laid. He likes to be able to point to a wall and say that he put the drywall up. And he likes to visit the places he designed and help build to see them being used by people. He designs offices and superhero headquarters, but his real love is designing something families will live in, whether it's a house or an apartment building, or a tenement.

After Hal "quit" the Corps, John saw the Corps as a place to build a brotherhood, so to speak. These people weren't quite a family, but they were all united with a cause of protecting the galaxy. Here were, at the time, 3600 people, each a member of different species, who could work together toward a common goal. This was something that John was always looking for.

Katma Tui was his chance to build a family, the thing he values more than anything else. With her, John could bring new life into the universe and teach that life to value all other life and to bring people together because individuals working as a community are much stronger than individuals working toward their own goals.

The Mosaic World was where John's values were really put to the test. He built a strong community out of groups whose differences were far more than just skin deep as he rebuilt himself. He proved that he can't allow himself to quit.

John's the type of man who can't just do something and then move on. He has to see the consequences of his actions and then attempt to fix them, which was why the death of his wife and the destruction of Fatality's home world hit him so hard; he blamed himself and he couldn't see a way to correct his mistakes. He's the kind of man who knows that upkeep is as important as the initial building.

Honestly, my knowledge of John Stewart isn't that great, compared too many people out there. What I wrote about him is, I think, more the way I want him to be in the comics than he actually is. I know him from his appearances in the early issues of Green Lantern vol. 3, his short stint in the JLA, and the few issues of Green Lantern: Mosaic my brother bought.

My brother was the Green Lantern fan, not me. So, when he decided not to buy Green Lantern: Mosaic, there wasn't much I could do about it. (We were both on very limited budgets.) He did, however, buy a few issues and there's one that convinced me that John Stewart is one of the greatest characters yet to come out of the DCU.

In the issue, Hal Jordan (considered by too many people out there to be the "greatest" Green Lantern) confronts John about what's happening to the humans (Hal sort of ignores that there are about a dozen other species there, too) on Mosaic World. Hal's especially concerned with a woman named Rose, who Hal had (or nearly had, I can't remember) a fling with back in the days he was trying to "find himself" before the Guardians came back, but now she's with John and Hal doesn't like it. He want's to take her back to Earth. John wants to talk with Hal over coffee. They get the coffee and Hal tells John he's gone nuts (which isn't a leap, since John had essentially been raped by the insane Guardian who created Mosaic World). John says he's fine and Hal decides to do a mind scan. John blocks it. Hal picks a fight. So, they fight. I think it was a mental thing. Hal splits himself into dozens of identical copies and advances on John. John splits himself into dozens of different aspects of himself. Where Hal revels in the order and unity, John thrives on knowing that he's more than just one thing. John's a little kid. He's a gang banger. He's a woman. He's a giant fat man (who sounds like Louis Armstrong to me, for some reason). He's a pimp. He's a cop. He's hundreds of different things all in one body. And John's variety beats Hal's uniformity.

(The issue's spectacular. It's science fiction and action and psychology in 22 pages of pictures and word. I wish I owned it. I wish I swiped it from my brother's collection. I didn't though. I guess I'll have to keep looking at shops that are old enough to have back issues from the early 90s.)

I don't follow the newest volume of Green Lantern religiously, but I'll buy it for certain characters. (So far, I bought the one with Batman, the ones with the Cyborg Superman (my favorite Green Lantern villain), the ones where the new Global Guardians appeared. I'll probably buy the Sinestro Corps issues, too.) John appeared in one issue, for about eight panels and that's all I know about it. And what was he doing? He had gone undercover to protect Hal. (Who put a price on Hal's head? How about every women he screwed and then never called the next day? So, that's, what, hundreds of people on Earth and probably thousands more spread across the galaxy.) Then what?

Where's John?

Has he made any appearances since then?

Not that I know of.

Can I give a suggestion to DC about what John should be doing?

How about having him leading a team of Lanterns who are helping to rebuild the civilizations that were hurt during the Rann/Thanagar war? I mean, the Green Lantern Corps does more than just police, right? After being gone for so long, it seems to me that the Corps could use some good will in the galaxy. And then... Well, I don't want to write too much more about what I think should happen, but I know that there's plenty of conflict to be had out there for John and his team.

And I thought that I wrote too much for Ragnell's blog. Jeez. I promise not to write about comic stuff tomorrow, okay?

Questions

When does a guy go from being single to being a bachelor?
Does it have to do with how old he is?
Is he automatically a "confirmed" bachelor? Or is that only if he's even older? Or is it just '50s slang meaning homosexual?
Does being a bachelor mean the guy has to date a lot?
Does it mean he has money?
Is it better to be a bachelor than to be single?
Which suggest a better person?

Comicy

I'm feeling comicy this afternoon, so those of you who don't care, feel free to click off.

At the comic shop, here in town, I don't have much of a pull list. I keep a few things on there to mostly make sure I get the 10% discount and when I'm feeling on the very pathetic side, it's nice to have someone outside of work call me by my name, it's like I've made a friend in this town. Anyway, I pick up what's in my pull file, Countdown (Which has been a big disappointment. One of the reasons for me buying this comic, Kyle Raynor, hasn't even appeared yet. Darkseid has only appeared once, so far. And there's been way too much Jason Todd. That character was way more important when he was dead. There was no reason for bringing him back except to annoy me. So, what I want to say to Paul Dini and the rest of the crew on Countdown is to bring Darkseid back, use Jimmy Olsen more, ditch Jason Todd, and hurry up with the Giffen layouts.), this week, and then peruse the rest of the new things.

I don't read Previews. I don't go through the monthly solicits for the big two at Newsarama every time they come out. (I will check them when one of the comics blogs I read mentions a cover, but it's not a regular monthly thing for me like it is for so many other comics people on the 'net, though.) Hell, I even avoid reading the Grumpy Old Fan columns on Blog@Newsarama that focus on the solicits which, since Amateur Art Appreciation hasn't been around for a while, is probably my favorite column on Blog@. I like to be surprised when I look. And this week was a good week to be surprised.

The first happy surprise was the latest issue of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Season 8 was there. Reading these has been a lot of fun, especially since I finished watching the entire series a couple of weeks ago. The one thing that gets me is that Joss Whedon used Jane Espenson's spin-off idea by bringing back Warren (I remember an interview I saw, or read, as Buffy was working its way off the air where Ms. Espenson was asked if she was asked about doing a Buffy spin-off and she said, "I pitched one idea to Joss. I went in there and said, 'We all know Warren is dead, but what if he wasn't?'" (I'm paraphrasing, there. I can't find a link. And when I Googled most of the Espenson spin-off rumors are around her and Battlestar Galactica.)), although much creepier, since he still doesn't have any skin and Amy's in love with him, which is actually creepier than the no skin thing. Looking forward to the next issue. I wonder which Buffy look-alike it'll be about. Maybe all three?

The next happy surprise was the newest Spider-Man Loves Mary Jane. This book is so wonderful. Every time I read it, I just get the warm fuzzies. And I'm proud to admit that I've been there since the first issue of the first mini, but I am missing some of the earlier issues of this latest series. After two minis, I was confused for a while. For some reason, this series makes me think of Everwood, which is a very good thing. I wish that Marvel would announce what's going to happen when they run out of McKeever written issues. Will DC let him continue? Will Marvel try it with someone else writing? Will it be cancelled for good? Will there ever be another letter column? Anyone?

The ruler of the comics kingdom this week, to me, has got to be Gail Simone. I saw two comics by her, Birds of Prey and Welcome to Tranquility, and I snagged them before I even knew what the cover images were.

I have to admit, although I bought Birds of Prey 100, I never really thought about the comic much. It always struck me as a sort of Batman spin-off staring women, but really written for boys. Sure, I'd read and heard good things about it, but I'm not much of a Bat-fan, so I didn't care much. And then I read about a favorite Giffen/DeMatteis era character showing up in the book, and I had to buy it. It was fun. Eventually, there was Barda beating the crap out of Knockout and that was even better. The only thing that would have improved this issue is if Ice had been asked not only about what Guy would have thought about her behavior, but what Bea would have thought about it because she was just as much of a balancing influence on Bea as she was on Guy, maybe even more so.

The other Simone book, Welcome to Tranquility, is such a hoot. It's one of the best love letters to superhero comics out there. It's about a town where retired superheroes have moved with their, often super powered, families and how the human sheriff and her human deputies try to keep the peace. Five reasons I enjoy it so much: 1. A super speedster with a cane. 2. Emoticon, the grandson of The Typist, has the coolest mask, ever. 3. The Pink Bunny back-up story was a hoot. 4. Minxy Minerva and her solid gold plane. And 5. Zeke and his wonderfully horrible puns about death and other semi-inappropriate things. When I started reading the book, I bought the first five at the same time because I'd been poking around the book since it was released, but I always had plenty in my hands, and then one week I only got a copy of 52 in my file and money burning a hole in my pocket and I'm happy to report that it was worth every penny. If you're not already buying it, you should.

Okay, that's it for now.

If you haven't already, move along.

Pretty Good

For whatever reason, I'm feeling pretty good this afternoon.

I don't know why.

I mean, I had stomach problems earlier, which caused me to be out of the office in a way that I really dislike. I found out that the guy who was in a far away part of the office, but has recently return, has decided to be a snitch and bitch to SUSM (and occasionally the head office in SF) about stupid, and often uncontrollable, things, but he has yet to complain about his cousin, just the rest of us out here. And the wind is high, so sneezing is nearly constant and each blow of the nose leaves a pinkish offering rather than the far less disturbing clear ones.

And, yet, I feel good, almost happy. Maybe happy. Although, I can't say for sure.

Could lack of sleep have something to do with it? I really haven't been sleeping well since I got back from Cowtown. I climb into bed at my usual time and then read until I think I should be done and then I try to sleep, but I haven't been able to fall asleep in a reasonable amount of time. (I know that last night I stared at the light patterns that come through the slats of the blinds on the ceiling for at least thirty minutes before I decided to read some more.) In the morning I wake up about ten minutes before my alarm goes off, and I can't sleep. It's not that I have to pee or there's a squealing car or an annoying bird, it's just that I'm awake and not feeling tired.

Ah, well, whatever the reason for it, I think I'll enjoy the goodness of my current feeling as long as it lasts.

Work and Books

SUSM wanted me to box a bunch of files today and actually remembered to not give me any work. I mean, when I got to work this morning my "In" basket was empty. That means she didn't drop anything in it on Friday and she even took out the work that was left there Thursday afternoon. Amazing!

Today, I've filled 75 boxes with about 800 files.

Tomorrow, I'll do another 75 boxes with probably the same number of files.

Elsewhere in my life, a while ago, my mom loaned me this great book called Dead Until Dark. I think I read it in three days. It's sort of a horror/mystery/comedy book and lots of fun. While I was up this weekend, she handed me the next three in the series. I finished the second book (Living Dead in Dallas) last night before I went to sleep and I'm already halfway through the third (Club Dead). So, Mom, since you're reading this, I want to know when you'll be getting the rest of the books. I'll be ready for them, probably, on Saturday. (And in just doing a quick search on Wikipedia, I found out that there's going to be an HBO show based on the books! Hooray!)

Verus Verum

So, that last post I wrote, it was a lie. All of it. I've never been to Washington DC. I stopped believing in reincarnation in the ninth grade. And, although I've lived in flat places, I've never lived in a flat place that got really frosty and cold for long stretches in the winter.

The story that I wrote started while I was training to start working at 'Bucks in 2002.

See, when you're in your early to mid twenties and you work at a place like 'Bucks, everyone wants to know how old you are. Especially all the just-got-out-of-high-school girls. During my first week of training, which was at a store that was 45 minutes to an hour drive from where I lived at the time, I was asked by everyone who worked at that store, and the three who were training for my store how old I was. I was tired of the questing the third time it was asked.

I know when most people are young, age is very important (even though I keep getting bulletins on MySpace that say it isn't. When you're young, almost everything is defined by an age. At four is when you go to pre-school. Five is Kindergarten. Six you stay at school until two PM. Nine you're there until three. If you live in a town with a middle school (which I didn't) you go there when you're eleven. At fourteen or fifteen, you start high school. At sixteen you can, hopefully, drive a car. At eighteen, you get to decide if you want to be done with school, forever. And at twenty-one, you can buy yourself, and your underage friends, booze. Nearly everything is defined by age.

So, I understood that it was important to them, but that didn't mean I had to really answer the question.

My second week of training, more people who were going to be working at my store started showing up to be trained, and they started to ask me how old I was. I said I was 61. Every time someone asked me my age, I said 61. If they asked me to tell them my real age, I'd say 61. If they got upset, I'd tell them it's not how old you are, it's how old you feel. Eventually, they got smart and started asking my brother how old I was because he'd tell them, after he did some counting on his fingers. (That's not a slam on him; I have to use my fingers to figure out his age, too.)

Time moved on and we all moved into our real store and new people were hired, we were understaffed when we opened. They started asking me how old I was. I told them 61. Then, one day, I was tripped up. When I told someone I was 61, I was asked what year I was born in, and I stumbled. I couldn't just throw the year out without a thought like I can my actual birth year. So, I went about remember that I was born in 1941.

That's when more started coming to me:

• How could I explain why I was so young now, even though I insisted I was 61? Reincarnation!
• Where did I live? Somewhere very flat that got cold in the winter.
• Who were my parents? I can't remember their full names. I think my father's name was Jack or John, or something like that.
• Why can't you remember? I died before I was two.
• How? Whooping cough.

After I came up with the story, I started to recite it to people who would ask anything more than how old I was. Most people would walk away after I brought up reincarnation. Talking about how whooping cough felt got most of the others. If I had to go farther, I'd talk about how my past self's father died at Tarwa. Most people have no idea where Tarwa is, let alone about the battle that was fought there. They didn't want to hear about the bloody marine assault on the beaches or other nasty details.

Anyway, the story, no matter how deep I got into the details, was a good way to keep certain types of people away from me for a while. About a week. Good times.

In other news, I have an interview in Cowtown tomorrow. I'm not asking for luck, this time, because it hasn't helped in the past. Just thought people should know why there's no Friday post, even though there hasn't been a post in the last seven days and I don't plan on explaining that.

Hope your June is better than your May.

Alius Vita

I was born early in 1941 to two wonderful people.

I'm not exactly sure where we lived. It was flat. And cold. And I was kept inside our little house most of the time.

Sometimes I'd be propped up to look out the front window over the porch, that how I know it was so flat. I knew it was cold because the barren fields were covered in frost and whenever people would walk by the window on their way to the door, they blew steam out their mouth.

When the weather warmed up, I was taken outside more, but I was usually lying down in a stroller, or buggy, or whatever they were called then, and there was some sort of a canopy to, supposedly, keep the sun off me. It really just made it so I couldn't see. I wasn't propped up in the window as much at that time, either. That probably had something to do with the fact that my father was gone more often during the day. Maybe not.

In December, my father, along with a lot of other fathers, decided to join the Navy. Early in the next year, he was gone and my mother decided to move us from our house into the house my grandparents lived in. She got postcards with pictures of clear water and odd trees and sand. She cried when she got them.

My father died near some place called Tarawa in 1943.

I didn't know that at the time, though, since I had died nearly a year earlier. Whooping cough got me.

Aloha, as the letters my father sent my mother always said.

In the spring of the last year of the eighth decade of the last century, I was born again, to two different, but equally wonderful, people.

This time, Dad didn't join the Navy and I made it past my second birthday.

As I grew I started to remember things, like being propped up in a window watching the flat, frost covered land. I remembered moving from a little one-story house into a much larger two-story one. I remembered being tiny and coughing so hard I'd throw-up all over myself, the floor, or anyone who was holding me. And I remembered the last time I fell asleep.

If I had survived my bout with whooping cough in the last pass, I'd be 66 now. I'd either be retired or expecting to retire soon. Even if I hadn't accomplished anything up to that point, at least I could be proud that I had survived long enough to be done with something.

I wonder what I would have been. I wonder who I would have known.

In college, I took a trip to Washington to find out what happened to the former me's father. That's where I learned he died near Tarawa. I found out how he died. I even learned where he came from and to whom he was married. I never searched for information like that again.

I may remember parts of that life, but it's not mine. It was someone else’s, and he didn't make it. There's no reason for me to dwell on it.

Be Jealous of Me...

For in a couple of months Wings and I will be going to see Avenue Q in a couple of months.

For those who don't have any idea of what Avenue Q is, here's a clip of the cast performing "It Sucks To Be Me." That pretty much explains the show.

Edit: 12:18
Okay, if you enjoyed the clip above you may enjoy the meeting between Avenue Q and Fiddler on the Roof, which is brilliant.

Too Many Tests!

You Have a Phlegmatic Temperament

Mild mannered and laid back, you take life at a slow pace. You are very consistent - both in emotions and actions. You tend to absorb set backs easily. You are cool and collected. It is difficult to offend you. You can remain composed and unemotional. You are a great friend and lover. You don't demand much of others. While you are quiet, you have a subtle wit that your friends know well. At your worst, you are lazy and unwilling to work at anything. You often get stuck in a rut, without aspirations or dreams. You can get too dependent on others, setting yourself up for abandonment.

What Temperment Are You?

Seems right. I'm not sure if that's a good thing, though.

Your Driving Is is: 43% Male, 57% Female

According to studies, you drive both like a guy and a girl. This means you're a pretty average driver, with typical quirks. Occasionally you're frustrated and or a little reckless, but that's the exception - not the norm.

Do You Drive Like a Guy or a Girl?

Hooray for being average!

What Your Bathroom Habits Say About You

You are very independent and self-centered. You don't solve other people's problems - and you don't expect them to solve yours. Your idea of fashion is jeans and a t-shirt. Clean, if you're lucky. You have the perfect blend of confidence and class. You're proud of who you are - but you don't broadcast it. In relationships, you tend to be very romantic and demanding. You'll treat your partner like gold, but you expect a lot in return.

What Do Your Bathroom Habits Say About You?

Parts see accurate, but other things, not so much.

You Should Learn French

C'est super! You appreciate the finer things in life... wine, art, cheese, love affairs. You are definitely a Parisian at heart. You just need your tongue to catch up...

What Language Should You Learn?

Actually, I've always wanted to learn Welsh. It's not going to happen, but I still think of it every now and then.

Weird Al Shares Your Taste in Music

See his whole playlist here (iTunes required)

Which Musician (or Group) Shares Your Taste in Music?

Cool!

You Are French Food

Snobby yet ubiquitous. People act like they understand you more than they actually do.

What Kind of Food Are You?

HA!

You Are Expressionism

Moody, emotional, and even a bit angsty... you certainly know how to express your emotions. At times, you tend to lack perspective on your life, probably as a result of looking inward too much. This introspection does give you a flair for the dramatic. And it's even maybe made you cultivate some artistic talents! You have a true artist's temperament... which is a blessing and a curse.

What Art Movement Are You?

I like the part that says "you tend to lack perspective on your life."

Sorry

No post here, today, I did some bitching over at MySpace, instead.

From My MySpace Blog

Six

A year ago, a friend wrote a great blog post called "Can I clarify?"

When I read this bulletin I knew I had to do the something similar.

It was titled "Girls take a look"

you might agree with it, but when it actually happens 99% of girls dont realize it 'til it is too late and that guy who did it is so frustrated that he has moved on to someone who will take notice.

Unless the two of you are having sex on a semi-regular basis, then he's not going to move on... unless he found someone with bigger tits.

From a guys point of view:

We don't care if you talk to other guys.

It all depends on the situation. I'm not a fan of a woman talking to (or about) another guy (or a woman) during foreplay, or sex, or other private moments. I'm sure she doesn't want me talking to another woman at those times.

Of course, If I'm not bumping uglies with her, she can talk to other guys all she wants.

We don't care if you're friends with other guys.

Unless we're dating and the other guy is a friend with "benefits."

But when you're sitting next to us, and some random guy walks into the room and you jump up and tackle him, without even introducing us, yeah, it pisses us off.

Again, are we dating? If we aren't I'm not that much of a whiner. Leave me with Mario Kart and I'm good.

It doesn't help if you sit there and talk to him for ten minutes without even acknowledging the fact that we're still there.

See above.

We don't care if a guy calls you, but at 2 in the morning we do get a little concerned.

I won't be too concerned, mostly I'll panic from the shock of being woken up at 2 AM from a comfortable deep sleep the too loud ring of the phone. After the panic, I'll be sleepy.

Nothing is that important at 2 a.m. that it can't wait till the morning.

Except a friend being stranded on the highway with a dead car, or the death of a loved one, or a fire, you know, things that are important anytime of the day no matter what.

Also, when we tell you you're pretty/beautiful/gorgeous/cute/stunning, we freaking mean it.

Unless we're running late and we want you to get moving. Or if we're trying to avoid an argument that there's no way to win. We'll tell you anything we thing you want to hear to do either of those things.

Don't tell us we're wrong.

Unless we really are because even though some of us may not like to be told we're wrong but when we are we should be told because most of us like being an asshole less than we like being told we're wrong.

Or is this about us telling you that you look nice? If it is, then don't tell us because we don't want to be late/don't want to have a fight.

We'll stop trying to convince you.

This must be about the looks thing. And it's a lie. As long as we think we're running late because of you're dress or hair or make-up, we'll keep telling you that you look great.

The sexiest thing about a girl is confidence.
Yeah, you can quote me.

I swear, it was your confidence I noticed across the room, not curve of your leg or the bounce of you bosom. It was your confidence!

Why don't you believe me?

Don't be mad when we hold the door open. Take advantage of the mood i'm in.

Can we cross out that second sentence and fill its place with "I'm trying to impress you because I'm hoping it'll increase the likelihood of sex with you tonight."?

However, if you see us holding the door open for some random person going in or coming out, then maybe the new sentence isn't quite right. Still, the hope for sex is there.

let us pay for you!dont "feel bad"

We enjoy doing it.

It's expected.

Smile and say "thank you."

Are we just friends? If so, you're probably going to be paying for yourself, unless it's a gift or I won the lottery or something like that.

If we're dating and my paying upsets you though, don't just smile and say, "thank you," because closing off the lines of communication and holding in a bad feeling toward me is the best way to start a healthy relationship.

Kiss us when no one's watching.

Not if I'm eating, though. I'll share off my plate, but I'm not a bird; I don't share my meal with you from my mouth.

If you kiss us when you know somebody's looking, we'll be even more impressed.

Because all we want to do is show the world that we bagged some chick and try to convince everyone that we may be having sex tonight and aren't all the other people out there jealous yet!

You don't have to get dressed up for us.

Because sweat pants are easier for us to pull off. Complicated underwear may be sexy to look at, but going from full mast to half mast as we're trying to get you out of the underwear can't make you feel any better than it makes us feel.

If we're going out with you in the first place, you don't have to feel the need to wear the shortest skirt you have or put on every kind of makeup you own.

Lies! See that thing I wrote about trying to impress the world a couple of quotes ago.

We like you for who you are and not what you are.

I swear, baby, it was your confidence that attracted me to you!

honestly, i think a girl looks more beautiful when she's just in her pj's or my tshirt and boxers, not all dolled up

Because, frankly, we don't want high maintenance women. They cost too much.

(A preamble and a question: The boxer thing has always seemed strange to me. I don't get it. Am I supposed to feel all sexy when I wear the shorts next because I know girl parts have rubbed up against where my boy parts are currently rubbing?)

Don't take everything we say seriously.

Because you know, we're all jokers and are frightened of meaningful conversations about the "War on Terror" and politics and the latest theatrical interpretation of Hamlet.

Sarcasm is a beautiful thing. See the beauty in it.

Yeah, right. (This is where I'd be rolling my eyes, if you could see me.)

Don't get angry easily.

We'll probably just blame it on PMS and then every time you get angry we'll do our best to ignore it because it's just PMS.

Stop using magazines/media as your bible.

The Bible is The Bible and even though we're having pre-martial sex it's still the Word of God and all those magazines totally ignore the story of that guy from the place where the terrorists live now. You know the guy. He did the thing that was really important. For the people. He was a son, or something. I think he liked animals. You know the guy.

Don't talk about how hott Morris Chesnutt, Brad Pitt, or Jesse McCartney is in front of us.It's boring, and we don't care. You have girlfriends for that.

And I'm too insecure about myself to not get defensive and moody when you talk about guys you'll never meet and aren't dating.

PS I'll probably snicker when you say Chesnutt. It's just my way.

Whatever happened to the word "handsome"/"beautiful"

I've never seen the word '"handsome"/"beautiful"' I think it was just made up here and now. How special!

I'd be utterly stunned by a girl who greeted mewith "Hey handsome!" instead of "Hey baby/stud/cutie/sexy" or whatever else you can think of.

Actually, I'd rather you use my name. Some word that gets used so often in ways that make little sense isn't who I am. And I promise not to call you "sweet cheeks," okay?

on the other hand im not sayin i wouldnt like it ether ; )

Because I need that reassurance from you. I'm that insecure.

Girls, I cannot stress this enough: if you aren't being treated right by a guy, don't wait for him to change. ditch his sorry, disgrace to the male population ass and find someone who will treat you with utter respect

Because all women should be put on a pedestal to be viewed and treated like trinkets. They're not people, after all.

Someone who will honor your morals.

Even though you bible is, apparently, "magazines/media."

Someone who will make you smile when you're at your lowest.

Rather than listen to you and help you through what's going on he should distract you so you think he cares.

Someone who will care for you even when you make mistakes.

Because, you know, most people are afraid of your mistakes and they don't like you when you make them.

Someone who will love you, no matter how bad you make them feel.

Even if you make them feel like an utterly worthless piece of fat that the dog won't even eat it.

Someone who will stop what they're doing just to look you in the eyes....and say "i love you"...and actually mean it.

As opposed to the moments when he gives you're hand a reassuring squeeze before you go off for an interview or something else you may be nervous. Or the time's he give you a back or foot rub when you don't ask for one. Because you're so insecure you need to hear the words to actually believe he loves you.

Give the nice guys a chance

They deserve nookie, too.

Guys repost this if you agree

Girls repost this if you think it's cute

Or repost this if you feel like clogging the bulletins with the more useless crap.

Every guy who isn't a jerk will agree with this, so we hope that all the girls that read this will repost this

I guess that means I'm not a jerk.

I did repost it.

*Holdin Hands
Girls : If you want to hold his hand, gently bump into it a couple of times.
Guys : Grab it if it happens more than once.

I'm not grabbing sticky hands. And clammy hands are pretty bad, too.

*Cuddling
Girls : When you want to cuddle with him, tell him you're cold
Guys : Automatically move closer to her.

Um, if you tell me you're cold, I'll get you a blanket or a coat to warm you up. I'm just dense that way. If you want to cuddle, either tell me or start cuddling, hopefully I'll catch on.

*Movies
Girls : During a movie, if he puts his arm around you, tilt your head on his shoulder
Guys : Lift her chin up and kiss her.

If we're at the theater, I want to watch the movie. I paid the money to see it and I do my best not to see crap movies in the theater.

Also, If I put my arm around you in a movie theater, it's probably because I'm cold and I want some of your body heat because I gave you my coat when you said you were cold but really wanted to cuddle.

*Loving each other
Guys : When she tells you she loves you, look deep into her eyes, give her a peck on the lips, and tell her you love her too... And mean it.

Because nothing says "I love you" like actually saying the words!

*Laying below the stars
Girls : When you're both laying under the stars, put your head on his chest and close your eyes as you listen to his steady heart beat
Guys : Whisper in her ear and link your hands with hers.

If her head is on my chest, how can I whisper in her ear? And if she's listening to my heart beat, how can she hear what I whisper when I figure out how to get down there? And what if my heart beat isn't steady? What then?!

By 12 am tonight your one true love will realize how much they want you.

It won't help if she lives in Europe and doesn't know my name, though, will it.

repost as: guys point of view

Ummm, how about I just call it Six? It is the next one in a series, after all.

Disturbing Statues?

Recently among the comic chunk of the 'net people have been discussing this statue of Mary Jane Watson-Parker. (Here's one day's worth of posts at When Fangirls Attack. There are way more. It's overwhelming.) I'm pretty sure I know why, but that's not the statue that I want to write about because it's not the comic based statue that most disturbed me this month.

The one that got me was the newest Strangers in Paradise statue of Katchoo.

I can hear people now: "What's so offensive about that statue? Cleavage isn't hanging out as a focal point. She has a more realistic waist size. Her breasts aren't overly huge. And it doesn't imply that women should be barefoot and doing house work like the Mary Jane statue does." And I totally agree.

The reason that the Katchoo statue disturbs me is because all the moments in her story where she's wearing a dress like the one she has on in the statues are the moments when she's under the thumb of Darcy Parker. It's when Katchoo is "Baby June." The dress is a symbol of Katchoo's life in, what is essentially, slavery.

That dress is silken chain that Darcy Parker put around Katchoo when Katchoo was pulled off the streets. And the worst thing is that, in the dress, Katchoo, at least for a while, liked the life she lived with Darcy Parker. She liked being a call girl. She liked extorting money out of people. She liked the lounging by the pool. And she liked Darcy Parker.

In the dress, Katchoo could pretend that Darcy Parker wasn't a monster. She could pretend that Darcy Parker didn't order the deaths of people who wouldn't be extorted. She could pretend that Darcy Parker actually loved her.

To me, Katchoo in a dress, especially a cocktail dress, is always one of the most disturbing images. It represents everything that Katchoo was trying to leave behind and I, as a fan of the series, would never want to own something that constantly reminds me of the emotional and physical horror one of the best characters ever created has gone through.

As "Baby June," Katchoo wasn't a hero, she was a pathetic villain who was always too afraid to do anything for herself or her friends.

I don't understand why anyone would want a reminder of that.

---

And now that I've written this, I feel silly. I don't mean it as a joke or in any way to slight the reaction to the Mary Jane statue, but for me I find the Katchoo statue to offend me more than the Mary Jane one ever could because I don't care about Mary Jane the character (or feminist icon) like I care about the character (or fictional person) that is Kachoo.

Great Last Name From A Work File

Munsterman

Post Interview Stress Disorder

If I get hired at the job I interviewed for on the 4th, I can no longer start just as the new pay period begins.

I was interviewed for two positions at the same time. I was sure I'd get one of them. I've been doing the filing and paper pushing for over a year. I know I can do it there as well as I do it here.

Why won't they hire me?

Is it just my usual hiring curse?

I'd feel so much better if I knew the place I interviewed for was desperate for people. But their not.

Disappointed

Three weeks ago, I wanted to know what books those of you who occasionally peruse this space enjoy rereading and I only got one response.

Last week, I wanted to read some jokes from those of you who occasionally peruse this space, and I only got one response.

It's just sad that five or six of you out of the six or seven who visit don't reread books or know any jokes.

Blizzard

I really want a Blizzard. I actually have money with me and even though the Mall isn't on my normal route away from work, it's also not out of the way. I think I'll stick with my usual peanut butter cup Blizzard. That seems like a good idea that's also bad.

Not In The Mood

This has been a very long week. I've had lots of work to catch up on and lots of work coming in. And add to that my allergies going extra-crazy psychotic and I'm really not in the mood to write much of anything. I'm sure there's stuff to say, but my sneezing and headaches won't allow me to say then right now.

Another Game?

Yup.

Go play Count Out!

It's sort of like Minesweeper, but no diagonals, only up and down and left and right.

Good luck!

JOKES

I have no time or content today. I thought I'd copy Choochoo's post today and do a joke, which I wrote in her comments hoping other people would write jokes, too. They didn't.

I'll also write another one, which you may or may not have heard before.

If you have a joke, please put it in the comments, or write it on your blog and drop me a link.

Enjoy.

The first joke:
A woman was driving throught he country admiring the rolling green hills. She saw a herd of sheep and slowed down a bit to get a good look and admire the curly haired animals that she never got to see, living in the city. Suddenly she heard a "Baaaa... Baaaa... Baaaaaaa!" that kept repeating itself with some regularity. She stopped her car, leaned over to get a better look out the passenger side window, and saw a naked man out in the field standing behind a sheep. Thrusting his hips. With each thrust the man made she heard another "Baaaaaa!"

She drove off as quickly as she could and at the next drive way pulled in. She got out of her car, ran up to the house, and pounded on the door. A boy with very curly, blond hair opened the door.

"There's a man," said the woman, "out in your field having sex with your sheep!"

"It's okay," said the boy. "That's my daaaaaaaad."

The second joke:
One evening after going to the theater, two men were walking down the street when they saw a well dressed and attractive lady walking just ahead of them. One of the men turned to the other and said, "I'd give $50.00 to spend the night with that woman."

To their surprise the lady overheard him and, turning around, she said, "I'll take you up on that." She had a smokey voice and looked clean, so, after blowing his friend off, the man followed the lady to her apartment, where they immediately went to her room, jumped into bed, and had so-so sex..

The following morning the man handed her $25.00.

As he started to leave she demanded the rest of the money saying, "If you don't give me the money I'll sue you for it."

He laughed and said, "I'd like to see you try."

The next day he was surprised when he received a summons ordering to court as defendant in a law suit. He hurried to his lawyer and explained the details of the case. His lawyer said: "She can't possibly get a judgement against you on such grounds, but it will be interesting to see how her case is presented."

In court, after the usual preliminaries, the lady's lawyer addressed the court: "Your Honor, my client, this woman here, is the owner of a piece of property, a garden spot surrounded by a profuse growth of shrubbery, property she agreed to rent to the defendant for a specific length of time for the sum of $50.00. The defendant took possession of the property, used it extensively for the purpose for which it was rented, but upon evacuating the premises he paid only $25.00 which is only half the amount agreed upon. The rent was not excessive, since it is restricted property, and we ask judgement to be granted against the defendant to assure payment of the balance."

The defendant's lawyer was impressed and amused at the way the opponent had presented the case. His defense, therefore, was different from the what he had originally prepared. "Your Honor, my client agrees that the young lady has a fine piece of property, that he did rent such property for a time and a degree of pleasure was derived from the transaction. However, my client found a well on the property, around which he placed his stones, sunk a shaft and erected a pump, all labor being performed personally by him. We claim these improvements to the property adequately compensated for rental of said property. We therefore, ask judgement be not granted."

The young lady's lawyer said, "Your Honor, my client agrees that the defendant did find a well on her property and that he did make improvements such as my opponent has described. However, had the defendant not known the well existed, he would never have rented the property, also, upon evacuating the premises, the defendant removed the stones, pulled out the shaft and took the pump with him. In doing so, he not only dragged the equipment through the shrubbery, but left the hole much larger than it was prior to his occupancy, making it easily accessible to little children. We therefore, ask that judgement be granted."

The judgement was granted.

Hope to see read some of yours!

In

I was gone an Friday, job interview, so there's a lot of work on my desk today. It'll take a lot of work to be caught up by this Friday.

I'll find time to actually say something tomorrow. I just hope that I actually have something to say tomorrow.

Been Thinking

I got this in my e-mail this morning:

I certainly thought this was enlightening. Beyond our sun ...
It's a big universe.

Antares is the 15th brightest star in the sky.
It is more than 1000 light years away.
Now how big are you?

------------------------------------------------------------------

Now TRY to wrap your mind around this.........


This is a Hubble Telescope Ultra Deep Field Infrared View of countless "ENTIRE" Galaxies Billions of Light-Years Away.

Below is a close up of one of the darkest regions of the photo above.

Humbling, isn't it?

Now How Big Are You?
And how big are the things that upset you today?

Keep life in perspective and don't sweat the small stuff!

---

Now, I know what the person is trying to get across here, but when I got to the end I wasn't thinking what the e-mail wanted me to think.

What I thought, when I got to the end, was if the world we live on is so small compared to the other planets and the other planets are so small compared to our star and our star is so small compared to other stars and all the stars are so small compared to a galaxy and there are so many galaxies in the universe and this one tiny world we live on is the only place we know of, for sure (and I did read the WIRED thing about a possible Earth-like planet because it seems to fall in the liquid water zone around its star), that life can exist then it seems to me that the small things are pretty damn important. If two neighbors can't get along with each other, what hope is there for two nations? And if the people and nations don't start being civil to each other, who's to say that there'll be any life left in the universe at all after we fuck this miniscule place up?

If Only It Were Just A Joke

"The question is, 'Who ought to make that decision, the Congress or the commanders?'," Mr. Bush said. "As you know, my position is clear – I'm the commander guy."

via The Caucus

Confused

A lot of people seem to be finding my blog by searching in Google Image Search. The odd thing is that the search is bringing them to a post that talks about images and links to images, but doesn't actually have any images in it.

Last year, when I wrote about Superman Returns, I first broke down my opinion on the black costume shown in the teaser for Spider-Man 3.

So, I need to know, how does this work? There are very few pictures up on this blog, in the over 800 posts. If an image search came up with one of those few pages, I'd get it, but how does it come up with a post that has no pictures, only links to pictures? And why are people clicking on those anyway when two of the three I linked to are on the first page of the search? (And don't you dare blame it on misspelling because I am damn careful to write "Spider-Man" not "Spiderman." The whole spelling thing was explained in FRIENDS, that's how I know the right way to spell it.)

Sure, I guess more traffic is okay, but I'd rather it be for something that actually appears on my blog than something that just linked.

I know, it's a crazy thing to bitch about. Still, I'd like it to at least make a little sense. If someone can, please explain it to me.

Allergy Time Relativity

On allergy days, time is weird. And not just in the when-you're-with-a-girl-you-like Einstein/relativity way. Parts of it go really fast. (I can't tell you exactly what I've done for the last two hours, but my pile of work has moved from the left side of my desk to the right, and put in smaller piles.) Other parts go really slow. (Ten fifteen to eleven seemed to last a day or two. And there was stuff to do and I was doing it.)

Hell, I can't remember actually showering this morning. I remember getting into the tub and under the water and I remember rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. Rinsing out the shampoo is the last thing I do when I shower and I couldn't remember actually washing any part of my body. It was very disorientating standing under the warm streams trying to figure out if I washed my feet, among other parts of my body. I was pretty sure time had passed and, even though I hate the place, I didn't want to be late to work. (An aside: I usually get to work about five minutes early. Not on purpose, it's just a habit. Late in January, the building had shut off the power because of our elevators and when I came in the next morning, I was the one who reset the clock and I reset them all five minutes fast. That way I was exactly on time and we really locked the door five minutes early each day. It was great. Two weeks ago, they turned the power off again to test the elevators and the clocks had to be set again. I set them back to my time. One of the other workers noticed the clocks were off and were back on actual PDT. Sucks.) So I took the soap and washed the pertinent parts of my body, but I'm pretty sure that I rewashed them because the body feels different, especially between the toes. Or maybe it's just my body. I don't know. After I cleaned/re-cleaned the important parts, I decided to believe that the rest of me was clean and I've been okay for the rest of today.

I think I've lost the point of this post. It's mostly that I've lost my sense of time during this the season of allergies.

I look forward to the scalding days of July when they will be gone.